Really Big Rugs
by Stephfunky
Summary: To Harry, the sky is like a really big rug.


The world, Harry noted with a small amount of almost bitter humor, looked much larger when seen upside down. The grass, composed of various shades of greens and even brown in some parts, seemed to stretch that much farther before his eyes. The sky – today a nice shade of Russian blue that indicated rain soon to come – was at his feet like some vast rug that was altogether to huge to even contemplate without feeling incredibly insignificant. Never before had Harry felt so small, so pointless in the whole scheme of things. About these 'things' were, precisely, Harry wasn't all too sure. 'Things' were just secrets, lives, heroes, fates, and other such confusing _things_ – all woven together into a beautiful, intricate rug like those Aunt Petunia eyed with a look of childish longing every time she happened across one. Only this woven rug was far too large to sit under a barely used dining room table. This rug was larger even than the massive steely blue one strewn at Harry's feet.

Hmmm… maybe this whole situation was not so bad. Then again, maybe all the blood pooled in his head was affecting Harry's already limited mental capabilities. He was, after all, only eight and a half years old. Well - eight years, seven months, and four days old but no seemed to care for such exact details anymore, at least not when dealing with age. He certainly did not because Harry knew that it didn't matter how many months over eight he was – in the end, he was still powerless.

Harry sighed and sat upright awkwardly, thus transforming his grand rug into a near claustrophobia-inducing ceiling and leaving him feeling slightly dizzy. Now that the blood that had previously been taking up residence in his brain had started to return to its proper home, Harry was no longer concerned with 'things'. No, he was much more concern with more real, more touchable problems ailing him. Like the fact that his rear itched rather viscously. More important, however, was Ripper's absence. If Harry strained he could hear Aunt Marge baby talking rather sickeningly, which undoubtedly meant the blood thirsty hell hound of a bull dog was inside the house being treated to things that most dogs wouldn't be and making Aunt Petunia cringe as her fine china was violated.

This was his chance Harry thought wildly. Ripper and the rest of the Dursleys were finally inside. If he didn't seize this chance Harry near he could very well end up spending the rest of his life as a vertically challenged freak in the old oak tree of number four's back yard. The young boy shimmied down the tree trunk quickly, determined not live the remainder of his life as Harry – the boy raise by squirrels.

Getting into the house through the narrow bathroom window was not easy, but Harry knew better than trying to use the door. Ripper would have heard him the instant those squeaky sliding glass doors started to move and then the dog would have herded Harry back into the tree and the Dursleys would have done nothing more than laugh. No, Harry had to avoid the dining room from which the sounds of a family he would never belong to drifted at all costs.

After a quick peek to check if the coast was clear Harry slinked out of the bathroom and darted down the hall to his cupboard. He had not dared to lock it, nor had he switched on the light for fear of alerting Ripper. Instead, the abnormally small child simply slipped into his makeshift bedroom, which he shared with cleaning supplies and spiders, and lay flat on his back on the small cot shoved between an old Christmas tree and a broken vacuum.

The world – dimly lit by what little outside light that seeped in through the door cracks – seemed strangely small when he was in here. In here, the world and all its people was condensed into one little boy and a handful of spiders. He didn't feel small or insignificant in this cramped space – this, his sanctuary. He was accepted here, loved by the softly whispering shadows and the strangely intelligent spiders. Then again – the fumes from the cleaning supplies could be impairing his already limited mental capabilities. Probably were.


End file.
